


Clumsiest

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, Vignette, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it bad that Harry knocks things over just to see Scorpius bend to pick them up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clumsiest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Harry’s supposed to be looking over the latest report from Wiltshire. Instead, he’s watching his apprentice bend over the table, pouring him coffee.

There’s a lump in Harry’s throat as Scorpius Malfoy tilts his head back, loosening his collar lightly, letting in the breeze from the open window. It’s a hot summer day, and the Ministry isn’t the best with air conditioning spells. Nor with coffee. Scorpius is happy to Apparate a block away though, pick up Harry’s favourite blend, and stir in Harry’s sugar. After a moment, Scorpius lifts the porcelain cup just a few centimeters away from his mouth, blowing away the steam. Harry tries not to stare at the way his glistening, pink lips pout, cooling Harry’s beverage. Scorpius goes far above and beyond what any apprentice should do, despite the fact that Harry’s already guaranteed him a position as an Auror when he’s completed the preliminary year.

For now, he’s too young for this. Fresh out of Hogwarts, he’s too young for Harry to be watching the way his slender back arches when he picks the cup up on its tray and the way his hips swing as he approaches Harry’s desk. He sets it neatly down amongst Harry’s papers, asking with a far too sweet voice, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Potter?”

 _‘You can bend over my desk and pull down your trousers,’_ Harry raunchily thinks, but instead, he says, “No.”

Scorpius bites his lower lip, looking adorably disappointed. He looks too much like his father for Harry to be comfortable with how hot this is making him—he crosses his legs under his desk. Scorpius’ grey eyes dart away, and he flips a stray strand of platinum hair out of them. When he turns—probably to go sprawl out on the couch with a stack of papers like usual, deliberately sensual, Harry’s sure—Harry’s hand acts quite on its own. He purposely reaches out to knock his mug of pens over the edge, falsely saying, “Oops!”

Scorpius looks around but doesn’t catch it in time. The plastic mug rolls across the floor, and Scorpius bends over to pick it up. It escapes him somehow and rolls under the couch. Scorpius chases it and inevitably gets down to his hands and knees, ass sticking up in the air as he fishes beneath the furniture. Harry ogles the wriggling globes with a barely restrained moan—Scorpius has the best ass he’s ever seen and is prone to flaunting it. The tight trousers aren’t helping, either—they look almost like faux-leather and stretch across, the light shining off them gorgeously. Scorpius spreads his legs a little as he tries to reach further—Harry clenches his fists tightly.

It takes everything he has to not drop his hand to his crotch. When Scorpius finally retrieves the mug, he turns around, staying on his hand and knees, and dutifully picks up all of Harry’s pens. He could use a spell, of course, but it doesn’t seem to occur to him. It never does. Harry knocks things over daily—he’s worked up quite the guise of clumsiness. Once, he even purposely spilled an impossible-to-spell-away potion on the couch, just to keep Scorpius on the floor all day.

He knows it’s wrong, of course. Scorpius is the same age as Harry’s own son, and he’s _Malfoy’s_ son, and he’s just barely legal. But somehow, that doesn’t stop Harry from buying him cream puffs and Popsicles and purposely casting warming charms around the office. It never seems to stop Scorpius from lingering too close, too long, _almost_ flirting, or maybe Harry’s just seeing what he wants to. On the rare occasion Harry’s forced himself to try and transfer Scorpius away, Scorpius finds a way to wriggle himself back under Harry’s supervision.

All the pens back in place, Scorpius bends down to peer under Harry’s desk, presumably to make sure he’s got them all. Harry subconsciously shifts his legs, hoping his sizeable tent won’t be noticed. Scorpius doesn’t seem to find anything of interest. He climbs back to his feet and replaces the mug on Harry’s desk, chirping in that simultaneous cunning and innocent way of his, “Perhaps you should put a sticking charm on that.” He lifts one pale brow, lips lightly smirking.

Harry nods mutely. Scorpius turns to stroll back to the couch, and Harry considers spilling the coffee on himself on purpose, just so Scorpius can clean him up.


End file.
